The Mistress
by Cherry Blossoms In Italy
Summary: Sora, a Manhattan billionaire taking a break before accepting his role as the leader and protector of Traverse Town meets unexpected women.
1. Chapter 1

Sora had been at the charity ball for only half an hour but he was more than ready to leave.

Events like this were painfully predictable. Flat champagne, unidentifiable food, too much bling…and too many women competing for his attention.

"The Keyblade Master" was ready to say goodbye to the whole thing, too. But then, Sora the Manhattan billionaire and the weilder of the mystical keyblade were the same man, though nobody at this party knew it.

It was a tightly guarded secret, known only by his close friends. For the past six months, Sora had been living in New York and enjoying his freedom, but two weeks from now he would return home to Traverse Town and assume his responsibilities.

His homeland was an island kingdom in what seemed like a whole other universe, however it was long destroyed. It was wealthy, but smaller than its neighbors. Sora's friend Riku feared that without a new direction and new leadership, Traverse Town might be swallowed up by a new evil and they had decided that it was time Sora provided that leadership.

Sora knew the importance of duty. He had agreed, but with a price: half a year of anonymity far from Traverse Town.

"A king cannot think of his own needs," Riku had said, when Sora told him he was taking this time alone.

"I am not yet king, Riku" Sora had replied with quiet determination. "I am still myself, free to make my own choices, and I am simply informing you of my plans."

His friend's stern face had softened. "You have the spirit our people require, Sora," he'd said, "but you must be king by the time your friends Donald and Daisy marry. It will be a huge event, viewed by the entire realm, and you should attend as Sora, the leader and protector of Traverse Town."

So Sora moved to a Manhattan penthouse and assumed the carefree existence that went with having good looks and lots of money. Nobody questioned his sudden appearance. He had been protected from the media as a boy and carefully maintained his privacy as a man. Besides, this was New York, a city in which modern fairy tales thrived.

Two weeks more, and Sora's would end. And tonight, he'd realized he was ready for that to happen. Maybe there was truth in the old saying that there could be too much of a good thing.

Sora raised his glass, caught the overly-sweet smell of cheap champagne, changed his mind about drinking any more of it and surreptitiously eyed his watch. Tonight's cause—Save the Pelicans, Save the Penguins, Save Something or Other—was a good one but for the most part, events like this were not. He had the damnedest desire to grab the mike and ask if anyone here had ever considered staying home and just sending a check. Or, even better, volunteering. He'd helped build houses for the poor in an outlying province of Arabia a couple of years ago and he'd enjoyed every sweaty, muscle-building minute.

Grabbing that microphone might not be a bad idea…

_Hell._

A waiter sidled by. Sora exchanged his flute of flat champagne for what turned out to be an apple martini. He shuddered, got rid of it and decided it was time to leave. Really leave, maybe move up his return to Traverse Town by a few days. It was time.

Yes, there were things he'd miss. Anonymity. Solitude. The right to be with a woman solely because she wanted him—but then, there was never any guarantee of that, not when you had a lot of money. New York women had been all over him and it would have been even worse if they'd known he had a title. He'd never thought a man could tire of being surrounded by beautiful, eager-to-please females, but he had.

From now on, at least, trying to figure out a woman's motives would not be a problem.

He would find himself a wife.

She would be of royal blood or, at the least, well-bred. She would be from his part of the world. Traverse Town maintained a polite relationship with the sheikhs of Arabia but their culture was too different from that of his own. She would be attractive—he would demand that much—but other than that, royal marriages were about duty. Not love, not passion, not heat and sex and challenge…

It was definitely time to get out of here, out of New York, before he got himself into trouble—although it did seem wrong to end his freedom on a down note. Surely, there was something he could do as a send-off…

"Have you purchased your raffle tickets yet?"

The voice was female and no-nonsense. It reminded him of the icy governesses of his childhood, and he reached for his wallet without bothering to look up.

"How much?" he said, his tone bored and brusque.

"A thousand dollars each."

"Fine. I'll take five."

"Five?" Her voice dripped disdain. "Only five, given your reputation for squandering your money?"

That _did_ make him look up and—surprise, surprise—the woman looked nothing like any governess he'd ever known. Not with that long, lush body, that sexy tumble of brown locks, that spectacular face and those enormous, azure colored eyes. She was looking at him with something close to contempt.

She was beautiful. And unless she was putting on a damned good act, she didn't seem the least impressed by him.

Seducing her into his bed might be the perfect way to say goodbye to his six months of freedom.


	2. Chapter 2

Kairi saw the sudden flare of interest in Sora's eyes and wanted to take back her words, but it was too late.

Why had she said something so foolish? You didn't challenge a man like him, not unless you wanted to do battle, and all she wanted was to get rid of these silly tickets and go home.

Did the rich really think tossing money at problems was the same as actually doing something to solve them?

She knew the answer. She worked for her living now, knew what it was to try to make ends meet, but she'd grown up rich. Her father had been wealthy before gambling most of his money away.

She knew how the rich operated, how useless and self-indulgent they could be, which meant she knew all she needed to know about the infamous Sora. She'd only left Paris a couple of days ago but she'd heard all about him already, that he was rich and gorgeous and sexy.

What more was there to know?

The ballroom was full of Sora–types tonight. Okay, perhaps not as ruggedly handsome, but just as useless. Raffle tickets in hand, she'd approached the ones on her list politely. Those with wives or mistresses at their sides had tried to seem interested only in the raffle, though two slid business cards into her hand along with their money. The ones who were alone hadn't bothered to be subtle.

"I'll buy half a dozen," one especially obnoxious jerk had leered, "but there's a price."

Kairi had steamed but she'd simply walked away. Then why had she lost her cool with Sora?

His eyes—a bright blue—slid from her face and over the rest of her, all the way to her feet and the silver stilettos the designer had insisted on. As much as she abhorred this sort of thing, as an aspiring model she couldn't argue with the chance to work a benefit for a good cause while also getting some much-needed New York exposure. Kairi felt her face heat. That didn't make sense, either. She was accustomed to men looking at her, it was her career now. Plus, her father had begun subtly parading her before what he considered eligible suitors the day she turned eighteen.

"It is a father's right to choose his daughter's husband," he'd said, when she'd balked. According to strict custom, she supposed it was. It was how her mother had married, and her grandmother, and all the women in the her family.

Would nobody admit the practice was barbaric? Worse, she knew in her heart that he wanted to marry her to someone with money so he could recover some of his own lost fortune.

She'd put her father off for two years. Then she'd fled to Paris where her girlish dreams ran into cold reality. She couldn't get a job. She spoke six languages, could plan a dinner party for six or six hundred, but so what? Eventually, she'd done the one thing she seemed suited for.

She became a model, but she wasn't happy. It was a frivolous occupation and perhaps because she saw it that way, she was still struggling for jobs. Plus, she knew she'd hurt her father, and he was not getting any younger. Her favorite aunt had called her just last week to remind her of that.

And so she had reached a decision. She would face the duty that awaited her, a proper marriage to a man who would meet with her father's approval. There was to be a big celebration, a birthday celebration fit for a queen. Her father was invited—an important thing, considering the uneasy relationship between cultures.

Kairi had written her father to say she would return home in time for the event, and that she would finally agree to marry a man who met with his approval. Meaning, she knew, someone rich and probably old and ugly and horrible….

"Did you intend to sell those tickets or hoard them?"

Kairi blinked. Sora was watching her, looking amused enough to be annoying. She drew herself up. "Sorry," she said in a voice that made it clear she wasn't sorry at all. "How many tickets did you—"

"I said five. And then you said I squandered my money. I'm wondering how you could possibly know that?"

How, indeed? She wasn't about to admit the other girls had talked about his cars, his penthouse, his partying.

"I meant that it's good to give money to a worthwhile cause."

"Save the Pelicans is a worthwhile cause?"

She couldn't help it. She laughed.

"You have a great laugh, Miss…?"

He smiled. Ridiculous that between the smile and the compliment, she felt her knees go week.

"Kairi," she said briskly, "And how many tickets do you want?"

"How many did you want to sell?"

"All of them, naturally, but I can't possibly do that if I waste time—"

"Ah. The truth, at last. Talking to me is a waste of time."

God, she kept digging herself deeper! "I didn't mean—"

"I'll take them all."

"I don't think you understand. I have, easily, fifty tickets left."

"Fine," he said, taking out his checkbook.

"You're going to buy them all? At a thousand dollars each?"

Sora flashed her another of those sexy smiles, wrote a check and held it out. Okay. Perhaps she had misjudged—

"But there's a price," he said softly, and she snatched back her hand.

"Yes," she said coldly, "I'm sure there is. Unfortunately, you can take your 'price' and—"

"Ah, Kairi!" The chairwoman bore down on them, smiling like a barracuda. "My dear, you still have tickets left!"

"Wrong," Sora said pleasantly.

He plucked the raffle tickets from Kairi's hand and gave his check to the chairwoman, who gasped with delight.

"How lovely! You bought them all!"

"Kairi offered to have supper with me if I did," Sora said blandly. "How could I turn her down when spending money on a good cause is far better than squandering it? Isn't that right, Kairi?"

Kairi opened her mouth but nothing came out.

She was trapped.


	3. Chapter 3

Sora had been at the charity ball for only half an hour but he was more than ready to leave.

Events like this were painfully predictable. Flat champagne, unidentifiable food, too much bling…and too many women competing for his attention.

"The Keyblade Master" was ready to say goodbye to the whole thing, too. But then, Sora the Manhattan billionaire and the weilder of the mystical keyblade were the same man, though nobody at this party knew it.

It was a tightly guarded secret, known only by his close friends and Organization XIII. For the past six months, Sora had been living in New York and enjoying his freedom, but two weeks from now he would return home to Traverse Town and assume his responsibilities.

His homeland was an island kingdom in what seemed like a whole other universe, however it was long destroyed. It was wealthy, but smaller than its neighbors. Sora's friend Riku feared that without a new direction and new leadership, Traverse Town might be swallowed up by a new evil and they had decided that it was time Sora provided that leadership.

Sora knew the importance of duty. He had agreed, but with a price: half a year of anonymity far from Traverse Town.

"A king cannot think of his own needs," Riku had said, when Sora told him he was taking this time alone.

"I am not yet king, Riku" Sora had replied with quiet determination. "I am still myself, free to make my own choices, and I am simply informing you of my plans."

His friend's stern face had softened. "You have the spirit our people require, Sora," he'd said, "but you must be king by the time your friends Donald and Daisy marry. It will be a huge event, viewed by the entire realm, and you should attend as Sora, the leader and protector of Traverse Town."

So Sora moved to a Manhattan penthouse and assumed the carefree existence that went with having good looks and lots of money. Nobody questioned his sudden appearance. He had been protected from the media as a boy and carefully maintained his privacy as a man. Besides, this was New York, a city in which modern fairy tales thrived.

Two weeks more, and Sora's would end. And tonight, he'd realized he was ready for that to happen. Maybe there was truth in the old saying that there could be too much of a good thing.

Sora raised his glass, caught the overly-sweet smell of cheap champagne, changed his mind about drinking any more of it and surreptitiously eyed his watch. Tonight's cause—Save the Pelicans, Save the Penguins, Save Something or Other—was a good one but for the most part, events like this were not. He had the damnedest desire to grab the mike and ask if anyone here had ever considered staying home and just sending a check. Or, even better, volunteering. He'd helped build houses for the poor in an outlying province of Arabia a couple of years ago and he'd enjoyed every sweaty, muscle-building minute.

Grabbing that microphone might not be a bad idea…

_Hell._

A waiter sidled by. Sora exchanged his flute of flat champagne for what turned out to be an apple martini. He shuddered, got rid of it and decided it was time to leave. Really leave, maybe move up his return to Traverse Town by a few days. It was time.

Yes, there were things he'd miss. Anonymity. Solitude. The right to be with a woman solely because she wanted him—but then, there was never any guarantee of that, not when you had a lot of money. New York women had been all over him and it would have been even worse if they'd known he had a title. He'd never thought a man could tire of being surrounded by beautiful, eager-to-please females, but he had.

From now on, at least, trying to figure out a woman's motives would not be a problem.

He would find himself a wife.

She would be of royal blood or, at the least, well-bred. She would be from his part of the world. Traverse Town maintained a polite relationship with the sheikhs of Arabia but their culture was too different from that of his own. She would be attractive—he would demand that much—but other than that, royal marriages were about duty. Not love, not passion, not heat and sex and challenge…

It was definitely time to get out of here, out of New York, before he got himself into trouble—although it did seem wrong to end his freedom on a down note. Surely, there was something he could do as a send-off…

"Have you purchased your raffle tickets yet?"

The voice was female and no-nonsense. It reminded him of the icy governesses of his childhood, and he reached for his wallet without bothering to look up.

"How much?" he said, his tone bored and brusque.

"A thousand dollars each."

"Fine. I'll take five."

"Five?" Her voice dripped disdain. "Only five, given your reputation for squandering your money?"

That _did_ make him look up and—surprise, surprise—the woman looked nothing like any governess he'd ever known. Not with that long, lush body, that sexy tumble of brown locks, that spectacular face and those enormous, azure colored eyes. She was looking at him with something close to contempt.

She was beautiful. And unless she was putting on a damned good act, she didn't seem the least impressed by him.

Seducing her into his bed might be the perfect way to say goodbye to his six months of freedom.


End file.
